"I left un in th' tilt by th' first lake above th' river. Shad were steerin', an' he weren't thinkin' t' use his'n," Bob explained.

"In th' first tilt above th' river?" Ed repeated. "We were in th'

tilt, now, d.i.c.k, when we comes through, an' there weren't any rifle there. Rope an' tent an' other outfit, but no rifle."

"No, there weren't none there," corroborated d.i.c.k and Bill.

"Now, 'tis strange," said Bob. "I left un there, didn't I, Shad?"

"Yes, you certainly left it there, on the rear bunk," Shad affirmed positively.

This puzzled them long, and they were never to learn the truth, for Manikawan, on her return journey for the ropes, had replaced the rifle exactly as she had found it, and none but herself ever knew the part she had played in the river tragedy.

While Manikawan rested in the tilt, and Bill Campbell set out to hunt ptarmigans for supper, d.i.c.k Blake and Ed Matheson in Manikawan's canoe, and Bob and Shad in Shad's canoe, left upon a reconnoitering expedition to the tilt from which the two latter were returning on the day of the Indian attack.

They had no fear now of an Indian surprise, since Ed Matheson had observed the retreat of the savages to the southern sh.o.r.e, and they proceeded boldly to their destination.

As antic.i.p.ated, the tilt had been rifled of its contents, chiefly flour and pork. The tilt itself, however, had not been burned, and was otherwise undisturbed.

"They was thinkin', now, t' have un an' t' use un theirselves when they comes here t' hunt, th' winter," declared Ed. "They thinks Bob an' Shad's done for. Unless they gets scairt out by th' ha'nts in th'

water--"

"The what?" asked Shad.

"Th' ghosts or spirits they thinks is there. They's wonderful easy scairt, Injuns is. Oh, I knows th' Injuns; I been havin' trouble with un before."

"When was you havin' trouble with Injuns, now?" asked d.i.c.k sceptically.

"More'n once," said Ed. "There were th' time, now, I comes t' my tilt an' finds a hull pa.s.sel o' Mountaineers--they wan't friendly in them days, th' Bay Mountaineers wan 't--so many they eats up a hull barrel o' my flour t' one meal--"

"Now, Ed," broke in d.i.c.k, in evident disgust, "you been tellin' that yarn so many times you believes un yourself. Now, don't tell un ag'in."

"'Tis gospel truth--" Ed began.

"'Tis no kind o' truth."

"Well, an' you don't want t' hear un, I won't tell un," said Ed, with an air of injured innocence.

"'What was it, Ed, that happened you?" asked Shad, laughing, for he had learned to know the peculiarities of these two friends.

"d.i.c.k's not wantin' t' hear un, Shad. He gets all ruffled up when I tells o' some happenin' I been havin' that's bigger'n any he ever has.

I won't tell un now; 'twould make he feel bad, an' I don't want t'

make he feel bad, nohow," said Ed, with mock magnanimity. "But there were another time--I'll tell you o' this, Shad, an' d.i.c.k don't mind?"

"Oh, go ahead an' yarn, if you wants to! But th' Lard'll strike you dead some day, Ed, for lyin';" and d.i.c.k turned toward the canoes in disgust.

"Now d.i.c.k's mad," Ed laughed, "but don't mind he, Shad; he'll get over un."

"As I was sayin', now, 'twas when I was layin' my trail t' th'

nu'th'ard o' Wanokapow. I gets my tilt built an' all in shape an'

stocked up, an' I goes out one mornin' lookin' t' kill a bit o' fresh meat. 'Tis early, an' too soon t' set up th' traps, for th' fur ain't prime.

"I gets a porcupine, which is all I wants, an' comin' down t' my second tilt about th' middle o' th' forenoon, finds un all afire an' a band o' twelve Injuns--I counts un, an' they's just a dozen--lookin'

on, an' dividin' up my things, which they takes out o' th' tilt before they fires un.

"Now I were mad--too mad t' be scairt--an' I steps right down among th' Injuns, an' when they sees me lookin' fierce an' ready t' kill un all, they's too scairt t' do a thing or t' run, an' they just stands lookin' at me.

"Well, I keeps on lookin' wonderful fierce, an' jumps about a bit an'

hollers. It makes me laugh now t' think how that pa.s.sel o' Injuns stared! One of un tells me a couple o' years after that they thinks I gone crazy.

"'Tisn't long till I gets un all so scairt they thinks I'm goin' t'

shoot un all up, an' they's afeared t' run, thinkin' if they does I'll start right in quick.

"Then I thinks it's time t' break th' news t' un, an' I tells un if they builds th' tilt up new for me I'll let un off. An' they starts right in t' build un, an' has un all done before th' sun sets. Th'

same tilt's standin' there yet--'

"Ed!" called d.i.c.k, from the canoe, "if you're through yarnin', come on now an' get started back. It'll be dark now before we gets t' th'

tilt."

It was dark when they reached the tilt. Bill, sitting alone by the camp-fire, had seen nothing of Manikawan while they were gone, and none of them ventured to enter the tilt or to disturb her.

But, when they arose from their bed of boughs in the lee of the tent the following I morning, they found that the fire at their feet had been renewed while they slept. Manikawan was not in the tilt, but presently they discovered her, standing upon the pinnacle of rock near the lake sh.o.r.e, looking toward the glowing East, immovable as a statue, picturesque and beautiful in her primitive Indian costume.

As the rim of the sun appeared above the horizon and the marvellous colourings of the morning melted into the fuller light of day, Manikawan extended her arms before her for a moment, then descended from her rock, and, observing that her friends were astir, she approached them, her face glowing with the health and freshness of youth, and bearing no trace of the ordeal through which she had pa.s.sed.

"White Brother of the Snow, the matchi manitu has been cheated. You have escaped from his power, and you will live long in the beautiful world," said she, for the first time adopting a more personal and affectionate form of address. "Manikawan's heart is as the rising sun, bright and full of light. It is as the earth, when the sun shines in summer, warm and happy. It soars like the gulls, no longer weighted with trouble."

"Manikawan is my good sister, and I am glad she is happy," responded Bob. "White Brother of the Snow and his friend will never forget that she outwitted the Matchi Manitu. They will never forget what she did."

Ungava Bob and Bill Campbell, sharing the canoe with Manikawan, d.i.c.k Blake and Ed Matheson the canoe with Shad Trowbridge, they reached the river tilt that evening. Manikawan was radiantly happy, but Bob, uncertain as to what course she might decide upon, and well aware that any attempt to send her back to her people would prove quite fruitless if she chose to remain with them, was much disturbed in mind. He sat long by the campfire that night, before he joined his companions in the tent, still undetermined what he should do to rid himself of her.

When morning came Manikawan gave no hint of going until breakfast was eaten. Then with her customary promptness of action, standing before Ungava Bob, she announced:

"Manikawan will now return to the lodge of Sishetakushin, her father, and wait for White Brother of the Snow. He is safe from the Matchi Manitu. She will wait and be contented. She will know that he is in the country of her people. She will wait for him till the sun grows timid and afraid, till the Spirit of the Frost grows bold and strong.

Then White Brother of the Snow will come to the lodge of Sishetakushin, and there he will rest. Manikawan will prepare for him his nabwe (stew) and make for him warm garments from the skin of the atuk."

Without further preliminary or adieu, she lifted her canoe upon her head and disappeared as unexpectedly as she had appeared.

XV

THE Pa.s.sING OF THE WILD THINGS

It was already too late in the season to attempt further distribution of supplies with the canoe. Therefore, the boat and canoe were carried to a safe distance above the river, and a shelter of logs erected over them, that they might not be crushed under the weight of snow presently to come.

Two days later the lakes were clogged with ice, and a week later the first fall of snow that was to remain throughout the winter fell to a depth of several inches.

Then came an interval of waiting, but not of idleness, for Ungava Bob or Ed Matheson. Their new tilts were unsupplied with stretching boards for furs and many other necessities, in the preparation of which they occupied themselves at the river tilt, while the others lent a hand; though nearly every day d.i.c.k Blake or Bill Campbell accompanied Shad on hunting expeditions which resulted in keeping the larder well supplied with geese, ducks--now in their southward flight--ptarmigans, and an occasional porcupine.